A Walk In Your Shoes
by TheInspiredMind
Summary: B is up for her dream role and needs to prove she can play the pauper as well as the princess. By going on an undercover mission, can our favorite power hungry it girl prove that anything is possible through sheer determination?
1. More than a Number

"Number 127!" The audition moderator read from her clipboard, making an effort to project over the throng of auditioners cramped shoulder to shoulder in the small hallway.

Blair Waldorf extricated herself from the corner she was lodged in and tossed her expertly coiffed chestnut mane over her shoulder with a self-satisfied smile meant to intimidate the competition as she pranced over to the door that would surely lead her to a future of stardom.

"Blair _Waldorf_," she corrected the lady, placing an emphasis on her last name.

Before entering the space, Blair took a moment to breathe and loosen her body the way her acting coach had taught her. True, acting was a relatively new passion and she had only been taking classes for a few months, but Blair was a notoriously hard worker and having spent hours integrating the skills taught to her by Kate Winslet's own teacher, she was confident her prepared monologue would be successful.

She pushed open the door and reeled slightly from the contrast between the fluorescent-lit hallway and the darkened auditorium. Gathering her balance on her four-inch Christian Louboutin's, with a million watt grin, the young socialite strode across the stage to her mark.

The house was quiet. Not losing her smile for a minute, she introduced herself and the piece she would be performing. Blair had rehearsed her piece to an inch of its life and when she wasn't rehearsing it, she was visualizing herself executing it perfectly, a technique she had heard Olympic athletes used before competitions. Therefore it was no surprise that she performed to the level she expected.

Silence followed before a raspy male voice rose from the audience. Blair could just make out of the shape of a tall, well-muscled man through the glare of the stage lights. "Very good!" the man said, "Solid technique! You are obviously well practiced!" Blair nodded her head humbly, but she was swelling with pride.

The man came up to the stage and held out his hand. Junior year Blair had won an award at Constance Billard for her paper detailing the importance of the handshake in business communication. She was pleased to find that this man had a firm grip. "Matthew Gulden, producer," he introduced himself. Color rose to Blair's cheeks. He was younger and less balding than she expected a money-wielding producer to be!

"Very good!" he said again, and then, "but not quite what we're looking for."

Blair's smile froze. She blinked incredulously as if she hadn't heard correctly, "Not quite what you're looking for?"

"If I may speak frankly," Mr. Gulden said, "Your performance was flawless! But, that's just it. It was too _perfect._ Miss Eliza Doolittle lived on the _streets._"

"I can do street!" Blair blurted out before she even comprehended what she was saying. She had been dreaming of playing this part since she was nine years old and this was her chance! Hurriedly she whipped out a few lines in a Cockney accent to prove her point.

Mr. Gulden laughed and shook his head, "Wonderful!" he said, "Still, for some reason," he referenced her heather wool Dior dress, "I have difficulty believing that you have ever scrounged for a penny in your life."

"Believe me, Mr. Gulden, I have been in some tough situations." Blair remembered the time her mother had read that article in the Times about the younger generation not appreciating the worth of a dollar and had withheld her Amex card for a week. "Let me prove it to you at the callbacks."

"You certainly have some of Miss Doolittle's drive," he admitted seemingly impressed. "Tell you what. We still have a round of national auditions to go through. Come back in three weeks when we're back in New York, dressed down, and prove to us that you can be both the princess _and _the pauper at the callbacks."

Blair could have punched her fist in the air in triumph had she been that kind of girl. Instead she tilted her head coquettishly and crooned in her best Audrey Hepburn impression, "You won't regret this, Mr. Gulden."


	2. A False Lead

_Spotted: Formerly Broadway Bound B heading to the Hamptons to catch the last rays of the season. Heard the producers are still searching for their star. Could our jilted actress be trying to cover up the embarrassment of a bad audition with a golden glow?_

Blair slipped her phone back in her purse. It seemed her anonymous tip to GG that she had spotted herself in the Hamptons caught rapid fire. Notification after notification flashed across her screen that so and so had caught B getting her nails done at this salon or grabbing a cup of coffee at that café. It seemed some small shop owners were taking advantage of her supposed appearance to increase their business. Blair hadn't even told her best friend, Serena Van der Woodsen who shared her apartment, where she was going, only saying that she needed a vacation and she had arranged with her professors to complete the first few weeks of coursework online.

"Humphrey," Even though they were friends now, it was an old habit that she still greeted him using his last name.

As usual, he had a head full of bed hair and looked like he hadn't shaved in a week. "Blair!" He reacted with surprise and then ran his hand through his curls in an attempt at nonchalance, "I thought, um, Gossip Girl said you were in the Hamptons. Not that I keep track or anything."

"Daniel Humphrey, still as obsessed at getting in our circle as ever." She invoked some of the old Waldorf haughtiness, but as a joke for his benefit. The two of them knew the amount of times he had been chewed up and spit out by Serena was enough Upper East Side drama to last him a lifetime. "May I?"

"Of course," he held the door and welcomed her into his father's old loft, now, since his father had moved in with Lily and Jenny was off at boarding school, was his own private bachelor pad. Blair gave the building a speculative once over. The reconstituted firehouse turned apartment could be quite charming minus the sink overflowing with dirty dishes and the hamper of dirty clothes spilling out onto the hardwood.

"You have suitcases." Dan motioned Blair's matching Louis Vuitton set.

"Yes. I sent the tip to Gossip Girl that I was in the Hamptons." Blair explained, "Might I stay here for awhile?"

"Hold on a second." Dan had plenty of room, but the last time Blair had asked for a place to stay she was about to run away from an engagement to a prince. When he agreed, thinking he might get his chance to win over her heart, she had turned around again and run right back into her Prince Charming's arms. The engagement was broken months ago; the newspapers broadcasted that Blair had caught Prince Louis in an uncompromising position with one of the wedding planners, but Dan had his suspicions that it had something to do with Blair's on again, off again relationship with notorious business mogul, Chuck Bass.

"Blair, what's going on this time?"

"Nothing, Humphrey. I just want to know what it feels like to support myself for once." She wasn't lying outright. She was telling a half-truth. No need to tell Dan she was doing a case study on what it was like to be poor. That her acting teacher had told her that the only way she was going to authentically get in the mind of Eliza Doolittle was to _walk in her shoes. _Blair wasn't about to stand on the street corner selling flower bouquets.

Dan thought it must have something to do with that audition Blair had been so worked up about, but if she wanted to keep her reasons to herself, he wasn't going to push.

Blair continued, explaining her disguise of sunglasses and a headscarf. She was about as inconspicuous as one of those Hollywood celebrities trying to garner attention for themselves incognito. Dan smiled to himself. It was obvious she was invoking the memory of her favorite film star in one of her more famous roles.

"No one can know about this, not even Serena, OK?" Blair waited for his nod to show that he understood. "If Gossip Girl got wind of this little escapade, my reputation would be trashed."

"Can I offer a suggestion?" Dan asked her, "You'll attract a lot less notice if you dress the part. A student on this side of town would have to forgo two months rent for a Gucci scarf."

"It's Hermes, Humphrey," Blair corrected him. It was clear that even after all those months with Serena he still knew nothing about the fashion world. Those _flannels._

"It's expensive and it's obvious." He fired right back, giving it a playful tug. Even back in high school, Blair had never intimidated him. He had always seen right through that show of superiority. Underneath the bravado, there was an insecure girl who was terrified of losing the power she struggled to create. Serena was a natural trendsetter and upon first glance a more attractive prospect, but there was something deeper with Blair that grew under his skin without him even knowing. There were times he wanted to pull her into his arms and whisper fervently in her ear that she didn't have to struggle to be somebody, that she was special enough.

He realized he had been twirling the fringe of her scarf in between his fingers. "Jenny left some things you can borrow." He let go abruptly.

Jenny Humphrey's gothic wardrobe wasn't her first choice, but it would certainly make her unrecognizable. Blair had a sudden image of her hair in a dark, shaggy bob and layer upon layer of dark eyeliner. She'd be involved in a bisexual love triangle and call herself some clever Greek mythological name.

"If only I had a killer leather jacket." She spoke without knowing out loud.

"Wishful thinking," Dan interrupted her reverie, "My sister never goes anywhere without it. If you want one, you'll have to buy it yourself…"

"I know the perfect one!" Blair had seen it last week at Barney's, but had dismissed it for being too metropolitan.

"…With the money you earn at your job." He finished.

Blair pictured herself as the barista at some quaint, independent, downtown café. "No problem." She responded, having not the faintest clue what she was getting into.


	3. Java the Hut

The sign read, _Java the Hut,_ and featured a grotesque picture of the Star Wars slime monster lounging in a steaming cup of coffee. It was after the morning rush and a few stragglers huddled in the shadowed corners of the shop typing on their laptops. A redheaded barista sporting thick-rimmed hipster glasses leaned against the counter reading his graphic novel. He looked up at the sound of the bell on the door and smiled as he caught sight of a familiar face, "Dan, buddy! Long time no see on this side of town!" He clapped his old friend on the back. "Saw your piece in the Literary Latte! Congrats! You're a big man now! A published author, dating none other than _Serena van der Woodsen!_" His grin grew and he playfully elbowed Dan in the ribs.

"Actually," A voice piped up from beside Dan, "They're no longer dating, which you would know if you kept up with a news source other than _the Enquirer._"

This comment came from startlingly lovely girl with a short black bob and a stud in her nose. Dan hissed at her under his breath, "_Be nice."_

"I'm sorry, are you two together?" The barista motioned with his hands.

"No!" The girl put the notion to rest instantly. "I'm Claire, Dan's friend," she said and stuck out her perfectly manicured hand in greeting.

"No, you're not," he said. "You're cute." He took her hand and gingerly placed a kiss upon it letting his eyes linger on her face.

Retrieving her hand, she wiped it quickly on the back of her skin tight leather pants thinking that if she ended up working here that would be the last time he made an advance on her before she reported him to his manager. "I believe at Starbucks there is a policy against hand to lip contact," she said.

Dan intervened quickly, "Claire, this is my old friend, Todd. Don't take him seriously. Todd is a real jokester. Todd, Claire here is actually looking for a job."

"Yes," his companion chimed in, "Is your manager available?"

"Hold up, let me check," Todd told her and then to her surprise spun around himself, "For you, my dear, the manager is ready to go twenty-four hours a day. Shall I schedule you an interview for tonight over dinner?"

Claire awarded him a patronizing smile, "I prefer to keep my personal and professional life separate, but I am available for an interview right now."

"Into the alternate identity thing, huh? Perfect!" He did a little dance move and shimmied over to a nearby table, pulling her out a chair, "Step into my office."

Claire rolled her eyes and took a seat. She crossed her legs primly and folded her hands on her lap. Dan made a mental note to remember to speak with her about her posture.

"Dan my man, do you mind? This is a _private _interview." Todd waved him away and pushing his glasses up his nose, leaned in towards his interviewee. "So, it's Claire, is it? Claire, what exactly?"

"Claire Dorota."

"_Claire Dorota." _He tasted her name._ "Miss Dorota, _true or false? The Empire could kick the Federation's ass. Why or why not?"

She was ashamed to admit she even knew what the Federation referenced. Sometime way back when her stepfather had encouraged her to watch old reruns of Star Trek to bond with her stepbrother. She pulled out a name she remembered, "Unless Spock served coffee, I fail to see the relevance," she quipped.

He laughed, "True, Spock didn't serve as _chai wallah_ aboard the Enterprise, but it is important to know the lingo of our customers. _Pedich Edhellen?_"

"_What?"_

"_Do you speak Elvish?" _

Caught off guard, she rattled off a list of credits. "I took French all four years of high school and graduated with honors. I was valedictorian of my senior class. I was the president of six different scholastic clubs _and _was a debutante."

"Ah. So you're overqualified."

"No! _Listen_, I may not speak geek, but I'm pretty sure I can juggle a few cups of coffee and I'm certain I need this job."

Todd laughed again. "Didn't Dan tell you not to take me seriously? The job was yours from the time you walked in that door! You're a gamer's dream! We'll have twice as many customers with some estrogen around the place."

Her smile this time was a genuine one. She nodded triumphantly at Dan across the coffee shop. Who knew it could be so satisfying accomplishing something on her own. "So, when do I start?"

"How about you stop by tomorrow after the peak hours? By the way, are either you or your alter ego free Saturday night? We could even make it a double date. My special friend, Chaz Lightning, knows a place where they make a killer mojito."

"Business and pleasure," she reminded him, "I don't mix them. Besides I already have plans Saturday night." Dan appeared behind her. "Right, Dan?"

"So, you _are _an item?"

She smiled and pulled Dan's arm over her shoulder. "Not officially, but let's just say I'm not on the market."


End file.
